A Waltz With Childhood
by Merlynnod
Summary: Sweet story about Baloo and Abby. If I tell you any more, I'll give it away.


"Daddy, where are you and mama gonna go tonight? Why can't I come?   
I'd be good, I promise I would, please let me come, please?"   
Three-year-old Abigail was sitting on her parents' bed, watching her   
father desperately trying to fix his tie, without much luck in the matter.   
  
"Sorry Abby-gail, not this time." Baloo responded with his pet name for   
his youngest cub.   
"Me and your gotta go ta, some big   
business thing or other with a buncha borin' ol' stuff-shirt business   
guys. Ol' Beckers'd kill me if I let ya come. Now, is it left   
over right, or right over left . . . " Baloo trailed off, his fingers becoming   
helplessly entangled within his increasingly knotted bow tie.   
  
Just as Abigail was about to begin pleading again, hoping that   
persistence would win the day with her father, Rebecca walked into the   
room. Abigail realized that all hope was lost for this night. Rebecca had   
already been through this age with one daughter, and knew good and   
well how to deal with stubborn and persistent bear cubs, even if they   
could drive a bear to distraction with questions on *any* subject.   
  
So, Abigail closed her small mouth, and watched in fascination as   
Baloo's left hand became completely knotted into what was once a well-  
pressed bow tie. She was already shaking with laughter, but when the   
big gray bear turned around with his hand still stuck in his tie, and said,   
"Uh, Becky, I, I think I'm stuck," the little gray cub gave in to helpless   
peals of childish giggling. Even as he said this, Baloo glanced over at his   
youngest daughter, and gave her a conspiratorial wink as she collapsed   
back into the neatly made bed, tears of laughter darkening her light gray   
fur.   
  
"I saw that, Baloo! Honestly, how many years have I been trying to teach   
you to tie one of these things? Oh, I forgot, you don't have that many   
fingers do you? Come here, well, you have to get down a bit if you expect   
me to come to your rescue." Rebecca scolded him her annoyed tone and   
words belied by the amusement playing around her mouth, and the   
twinkle in her dark brown eyes.   
  
"Hey now, I am just the *best* pilot ever, you can't expect a guy ta be   
worryin' over a little thing like tyin' a tie, would ya, Beckers? I have ta   
save room for the other important stuff. Too much junk in your head,   
and you ain't got room for anythin' important," Baloo responded with a   
grin and another look at his helplessly giggling daughter. The argument   
was well rehearsed, and the duo had been through it many times before.   
The argument, as with so many others, had almost become a comedy   
sketch, a routine favorite in the company's repertoire. Each knew their   
lines well, and both had long ago mastered the slight gestures, tones,   
and inflections that made the whole charade seem real. It was all a ruse   
though, performed this night for the amusement of Abigail, but in the   
past the audiences has included both Kit and Molly. The little duo would   
have played the game even if no audience had been present, simply for   
the enjoyment they received from this long-standing habit of playful   
argument and bantering that had started such a long time ago in that   
ramshackle building that was once Baloo's Air Service, later Higher for   
Hire and had now become the family business.   
  
Rebecca, having managed to get her husband dressed in an old-  
fashioned tuxedo coat, his tie properly affixed, if just a little tightly for   
the old bear's comfort, sent him out to amuse their daughter and to give   
Kit all the emergency numbers where they could be reached that evening   
while she finished getting ready herself.   
  
Baloo hoisted Abigail up onto his back, and she clung to his shoulders,   
beginning her endless questions almost immediately upon leaving   
her parents' room.   
  
"Where do pigs come from, Daddy?"   
  
"Well, last I heard they dropped down from the sky when it rained really   
hard. And they have to stay on the ground because pigs can't fly ya   
know," Baloo replied, his lips twitching with amusement.   
'She's bettern' ol' Wildcat any day!' Baloo thought as he headed down   
the hall to find Kit.   
  
"What about when you and Kit fly a cargo of pigs for Momma, then the   
pigs are flying."  
  
"Yeah, you got a point there, Abby-gail. Why don't you ask Kit if he   
knows some of this stuff, I think you've 'bout got ol' Papa Bear   
knowledged out," Baloo responded as Abigail slid off his back and ran   
into Kit's room, determined to ask him why sheep had wool and she had   
fur, having forgotten about the flying bacon for the time-being.   
  
"Kit! Kit! Why don't sheep have fur like me, and you, and Daddy, and   
Momma, and Uncle Wildcat, and Molly, and Aunt Clemmie, and Uncle   
Louie, and Mrs. Potter, and Nana and Papa, and—" at that point, Kit   
had to jump in with an answer to the question lest he and Baloo become   
stranded in the bedroom for the rest of the night listening to Abigail   
name off every single person she had ever come into contact with who   
had fur, instead of wool.   
  
"Hold up there Abby, I get the picture, over and out!" Kit cut in with a   
laugh at his sister. Kit enjoyed being around Abigail, she had the same   
precocious temperament and insatiable curiosity that Molly had when   
she was younger, but without the penchant for getting into really big   
trouble. True to the heritage of both her parents, she had gotten into   
some scrapes in her short years, but nothing involving idols, kidnappers,   
giant spongy creatures, and, Kit's favorite, giant squid climbing the side   
of apartment buildings.   
  
"Well, Abby, sheep didn't use to have any hair at all, and they were   
very cold. So, they started wearing cotton sweaters, but they were still   
really cold a lot of the time. So, one day an adventurous sheep named   
Horace, decided to try eating a new plant, called a wool plant."   
"But Kit, wool comes from sheep, not plants!"  
  
"Yea, now it does, but it didn't used to. Have I ever lied to you?" Kit   
asked with a wink at Baloo and an innocent smile at his sister.   
  
"Weeeelll, No, but you *do* tease a lot."   
  
At that, Kit cleared his throat nervously, wondering how much longer he   
was going to be able to hold out against this miniature menace in the   
coming years.   
  
"Anyway, Horace decided to eat the very-real-but-no-longer-in-existence-  
today wool plant, and after a few months, he started noticing he wasn't   
cold anymore, in fact, he was getting a little hot. So, he took off his   
cotton sweater one day only to discover—"  
  
"He was wearing pants!" cried Abigail with glee.   
Baloo and Kit simply looked at each other in puzzlement at that   
particular development, but Baloo shrugged and motioned for Kit to   
continue the tale.   
  
"Uh, no, he, uh, found that he was had grown a wool coat all on his own.   
So, from then on, all the sheep ate wool plants, and grew their own coats,   
so they were all warm and toasty, but all the wool plants got eaten up, so   
we don't have them anymore. So, that is why sheep have wool instead of   
fur."   
  
At this, Abigail looked at her older brother suspiciously, but had   
apparently not yet decided whether he was teasing or not, and skipped   
off to the living room presumably to mull this new thought over.   
  
"I'm glad I've got you here, Li'l Britches, I'd a never come up with   
somethin' like that," Baloo said, ruffling his adopted son's hair affectionately.   
Kit, now eighteen, and almost as tall as Baloo, but not nearly as wide.   
  
"She's getting better though, I don't know what we're gonna do with that   
kid pretty soon.," Kit responded.  
  
Baloo then proceeded to get down to business, telling Kit about where he   
and Rebecca were going. Gave him the number they could be reached at   
if he had any problems, and made sure that he knew to call for Molly   
over at the Duncans' house after dinner that evening.   
  
Kit took all the news and directions in stride, and was soon back to   
studying another manual of airplane mechanics, his latest project having   
been to learn how to work on planes enough to be able to fix his own if   
worse came to worse and he had no one else to turn to for help in light of   
an emergency.   
  
Baloo then continued down the hall, still limping slightly from his war   
injury, and carrying his cane almost as a child might cling to a stuffed   
animal, or favorite blanket for moral support when they first headed out   
into the big wide world. Baloo usually did not need the artificial brace,   
but on cold or rainy weather, and especially at night he occasionally used   
it as a support. It was a safety measure, but more than that, he had   
become so used to having the curved piece of polished wood in or around   
his persona, he felt uncomfortable without it. It was as much a part of   
him as his red cap and his old yellow flight shirt.   
  
As such, Baloo made slow progress down the hall, and was so lost in   
thoughts of how adult Kit had become, seemingly under the big bear's   
nose, that he didn't hear the music until he was in the living room, and   
feeling Abigail wrap her arms around his waist and plant her small,   
sleeper-pajama clad feet planted firmly atop his own.   
  
"Hey now, what's this all about?" Baloo asked in surprise as he looked   
down at his small daughter.   
  
"If you and Mommy aren't going to let me come, and Molly isn't even here   
to play with me, you should at least dance with me before you leave. I   
got everything all set up, and so now we can dance while Momma gets   
dressed up some more." With that clear and purposeful statement,   
Abigail wrapped her arms as far around her father's large girth as she   
could, and snuggled her small light gray head into the fabric of his   
jacket.   
  
Baloo stared down at his daughter for a few quiet moments, trying to   
remember forever how small and innocent she now looked, her dark   
brown hair tied up with white rag curlers, her small gray body, a shade   
lighter than his own, fully encased in a green fuzzy sleeper with white   
vinyl feet. With so little effort Baloo could think back to when Molly had   
done things like this with him shortly after he and Rebecca had been   
married, and there after unbidden images of the Molly of here and now   
flitted across the theater of his mind. Molly, having recently turned   
twelve was just beginning to be interested in feminine things, having   
forsaken her pigtails for a single ponytail and plain green ribbon. Gone   
were the days of dress up and dolls, now replaced with school, friends,   
and increasingly to Baloo's dismay, boys.   
  
But, even as Baloo thought of the pig-tailed cub he had known, he   
reveled in the sight of the curious little girl who had finally made him   
into a somewhat responsible father. He was still the Flying Ace Baloo of   
old, but now he had responsibilities, a family, cubs, and a home. He was   
just a little more cautious, and the all night parties at Louie's, pizza   
baking in volcanoes, and treasure hunts with iron jawed reptiles were all   
adventures of his past, memories of an exciting life. Baloo was now   
content to simply feel the small arms of his daughter clutching him   
tightly, as she hummed along to the music with her eyes closed, and   
balanced on top of his feet as he shuffled them both around the floor in   
time to the music. He put one large paw on her back to help balance   
her, and the other atop her small head, content to live in the moment,   
and to take what new adventures awaited he and his family with the   
equanimity born of contentment about all life had to offer. 


End file.
